Dog Eat Dog World
by vine
Summary: The only thing harder to live through than Hollywood is the apocalypse, as twelve unknowing teenagers are about to find. Fighting the undead is messy, and all that screaming can damage your vocal cords. Zombie!AU.
1. Prologue

The alarm clock goes off at 6:20 sharp, and Rachel Berry does not indulge in the snooze button. The small act will save her life, though she does not realize it yet.

Turning on the shower, she watches the steam billow as she slips out of her nightgown, shivering at a brush of cool air, she hurries into the shower without bothering to close the window. Ideas are already running through her head. As the hot water rolls over her, she toys with song choices for tonight's Myspace video. It is the most prominent thing on her mind.

So prominent, in fact, that she doesn't even notice the strange noises coming from the other side of the bathroom door until she has fully toweled off. Strange. Her dads are away for the week, on some couples cruise in the Bahamas. There should be no unexplainable noises coming from an empty room in an empty house.

Stomach clenched, she grabs at her nightgown and pulls it over her head in a hurry. Tentatively, cautiously, she opens the bathroom door.

"Mrs. Woodward?"

Her elderly neighbour is standing on the other side of the room, her back to Rachel as she makes a weird choking noise. Rachel takes a step out of the bathroom, still cautious. Is the woman sick? This is one of the neighbours filing a lawsuit, though. If she was sick, she wouldn't come here. She had already stated loudly in front of her dads how all homosexuals were going to hell.

At the sound of Rachel's voice, she turns, and Rachel stumbles backwards as she lets out a disgusted cry. The woman's face is covered in blood, and in her clenched hands is a tattered white and red mess that almost resembled Mrs. Woodward's yappy little dog. The woman's eyes are wide and bloodshot, and when they fall on Rachel, she jumps forward with a snarl and more agility than a woman of her age should possess.

As quick as she can, Rachel slams the bathroom door tight, and leans against it, breathing heavily. Something is terribly wrong here. As is obvious by the scratching of nails she can feel through the door. Twisting to turn the lock, heart in her throat, Rachel looks around, feeling more than a little sick when she lays eyes on the small one-paned window.

It's only the second story. She can do this.

Though not half naked she can't. Reaching under the sink, she pulls out a pair of black tights she always kept in there. For emergencies. And this is an emergency, though not the one she had expected.

Her cellphone lies useless on her bedside table, along with her car keys, her purse and wallet... Dammit. But the thumping on her door is getting louder, accompanied now by loud growls and shrieks that have Rachel shivering. No, no time to think. Now is not the time to go into shock. She has to get out first.

Rachel stands on the toilet seat and looks down through the window. Her head spins.

But behind her the door is splintering, and Rachel Berry refuses to go out before seeing Broadway.

Lips pursed, she struggles to pull herself up to the thin window sill. Maybe she can maneuver around so that she'll fall feet first...

The door cracks, and she catches sight of one gnarled, bloodstained hand. With a cry, she tumbles out of the window, trying to twist herself in the few seconds she has before she hits the ground. She almost succeeds, too. But the thing that really saves her is the person she hits on the way down.

Sitting up, Rachel turns to apologize to the boy she's knocked over, only to see that the boy not alright. He's missing an arm, in fact. Unless, of course, the arm he's holding in his mouth is his own.

She scrambles to her feet, hand over her mouth as she watches the boy shake, then begin to moan. Without a second thought, she's gone, running towards the garage as fast as her stockinged feet can move her, not even letting herself look across the street at the screams that have just punctured the early morning air. Or the limp body lying in the middle of the road. Or the blood, all the blood. No, she tries not to see any of that.

The spare keys are where they always are, dangling on a hook by the carport door leading back into the house. Rachel grabs them and turns around.

The boy is standing by the door, arm still dripping blood. And already, he has drawn attention to her. A few more- they aren't really people anymore, are they?- have started to gather, red mouths stretching wide.

Rachel reaches out with one shaking hand, not daring to take her eyes off of the monsters in front of her. Her hand settles on her dad's gardening supplies. Namely, his favorite shovel. Almost out of her head completely now, she lifts the shovel and points it at the arm-eating boy.

"Get away!"

The first swipe doesn't even connect. Now the boy is at the car's passenger door, the next body a few steps back from him. This one looks like her English teacher. Who does, in fact, live down the street. Or did.

She has time for one more swing. The driver door will be locked, and she doesn't have time to bother with keys now, not until she's inside that car and turning the key in the ignition. She has to go through the passenger door.

The shovel catches the boy in the side of the jaw, and Rachel screams as she feels the bone crack, the sound traveling harshly through the shovel's wooden handle. The arm drops to the floor, and so too does the boy, crumpling in a heap on the floor, lifeless, like dead bodies are supposed to be.

Rachel doesn't waste any time. She dives into the car, slamming the door behind her, and fumbling with the keys as what used to be her teacher presses her bloody hands against the window. Finally, the car rumbles to life, and Rachel throws it into reverse, speeding back out of the garage and into the chaos of the streets.

Where to go, where to go? Her brain begins to snap.

And her voice, never one to let her down, mutters a quiet idea. Whether it is out of simple routine, or the thought of reinforced doors, Rachel takes the suggestion and runs with it. She is shaking too hard to think of something else.

Her car speeds down the streets, which has overnight gone from quiet subdivision to violent hell.

It is 6:40 in the morning.

A/N: Trying something completely different here. This is mostly AU, meaning the kids don't know each other, either from school or anything else. They should still be in character, though the situations they'll be placed in may be cause for some character stretching. Tis the nature of a story such as this.

Any and all feedback is welcome. This is a tricky idea, and I'm not sure I managed to pull it off. Suggestions are loved, and thanks for reading!


	2. Wake Up Call

Kurt's alarm is set to wake him up with 'Single Ladies.' And every morning it does. At 6:40, Beyoncé begins to sing, and Kurt joins in, a little groggily, before the first chorus. Dad is ten minutes gone, so Kurt can be as loud as he likes.

He gets into the shower a few minutes later. If his alarm had been set to news, he would have heard the warnings. Instead, he sings along as the shower drowns out everything but the music.

---

At 7:00 exactly, Quinn Fabray wakes up. She checks off another day on her calender, smiling, and begins to straighten her hair.

---

7:05. Santana glares at her alarm, and rolls over, hitting the snooze button. Another five minutes won't hurt.

---

7:07. Brittany begins her morning stretches. She had better hurry, she thinks. She's behind already.

---

7:10. Santana is awoken by the opening of her door. She sits up slowly, vaguely aware the clock is beeping.

"Daddy?"

---

7:20. Tina C stands at her closet, debating between black skirt or black pants. She chooses pants. A wise decision. There are weird noises downstairs, and Tina, after a moment of unexplainable fear, goes to look.

---

7:26. Santana's been hiding in her closet for almost twenty minutes now. The scratching on the closet doors have finally gone away, but her heart is still pounding wildly. Her dad's gone crazy, she tells herself, but those aren't her mother's screams. She must be mistaken.

---

7:31. Tina throws up at the bottom of the stairs. There's blood everywhere. The noises are coming from the kitchen. She's not sure if she's interested in those noises anymore. And her family is all vegetarians. This blood had no logical reason to be here.

A clatter of pans in the kitchen, and an inhuman snarl. In a decision that will haunt her for however long she has left to live, Tina exits quietly from the back door, tears smudging her makeup, turning it into black rivers that roll down her face.

---

7:32. Kurt, all ready for the day, grabs an apple from the pantry and opens his new copy of Vogue, settling in for a peaceful morning.

---

7:33. Quinn checks over her makeup and her Spanish homework simultaneously. Both look spotless.

---

7:35. Brittany adjusts her headphones, and switches her iPod on. She opens her door, ready for her morning run.

---

7:47. It takes Artie seven minutes to pull himself up and turn his alarm clock off. No one comes to help him, and he smiles. Maybe he's finally won the ever-going argument over whether he needs help in the morning or not.

---

7:50. Running for her life from crazed preschoolers was not what Brittany had in mind when she had woken up this morning. But she doesn't have time to think of that now. The little blond girl is gaining.

---

7:51. Santana finally opens the closet door. Tiptoeing out of her room, she slides down the staircase railing in order to avoid the creaky stair. She is almost silent in her execution. Just like how her parents' room has been silent since her mother stopped screaming.

---

7:53. Tina is only still alive because she's always been good at hiding. And because her parents decided that they wanted to live at the top of the hill. And because her brother liked his bikes built for speed. But she is nearing the bottom of the hill, and may be out of ideas. Distractions are abound, as she hears screams and sirens on all sides, figures stumbling about, obscured by the smoke of many fires.

Out of the smoke, a car comes speeding towards her. The girl in the driver's seat has wild eyes. She sees Tina a moment after Tina spots her, but Tina can tell by her expression that she won't be able to stop.

They both slam on the breaks.

---

7:55. Brittany is starting to feel that burn in her legs. Most of her pursuers have gone for easier targets, but she doesn't look behind her to see if they are all gone. The house in front of her has all the lights off, and she takes a chance when she vaults the fence. A tiny part of her gloats and wishes Coach could have seen that one. The rest of her just prays that the door has been left open.

---

7:58. Artie is in his wheelchair, finally, and he is starting to feel a shred of worry. No one has come to check on him, and he doubts Mother would have given up all at once. Before he heads downstairs, he opens up his laptop and pulls up his favorite live News stream. What is happening in the world today?

---

8:01. Finn wakes up to dark shapes and screaming in his ear.

---

8:03. Santana's managed to leave the house, but now she's locked herself in the family car, crying and sobbing as her world falls apart around her.

---

8:05. Quinn loves it when her parents are away. Sure, she knows Daddy's real 'business' is meeting with his mistress, and Mother will spend her whole 'retreat' drinking and flirting, but it's so much more peaceful when they're not at home. Now, who could that be knocking on the door?

---

8:06. Somehow, Tina is not dead. Hardly even bruised. Her head hurts, from when she flew over the curb and landed on it, but she's still breathing, and the rest can be dealt with later.

The car must have swerved. It's now on the other side of the street, scratched up and on the sidewalk, but still running. The driver opens the door and beckons wildly to Tina.

"Hurry up!"

She doesn't have to say anything more. Tina can hear for herself the stumbling footsteps getting closer behind her.

The driver has already reached around and opened the passenger door, and when it slams shut behind Tina, the girl pretends it helps her feel safe.

"Wh-where a-are w-we-"

"West McKinley High," the driver interrupts her without commenting on her shattered speech. On days like these, everyone's entitled to some stutter. "It's the best place I can think of. Less people around out there. Not like town."

By the way the other girl said town, Tina could tell she had already been through it. A million questions bubbled on her lips, but none of them spilled through. Finally, to break the tense moment- and as a pause from the radio, spluttering chaos and cryptic warnings- Tina managed to string some words together.

"T-Tina. I'm Tina."

There was a tight smile on the driver's lips. "Rachel Berry."

* * *

A/N: Had to split this into two parts, as it was getting to be a little long for my taste. And again, trying out a new style here, would love to hear any quibbles or such about it. And yes, before people ask- there are two characters who haven't woken up yet, and so have not had any part in this yet. But they will.

And my anonymous reviewer brought up a good point. None of them have previous knowlage of each other. This does open up pairings in a way you don't usually see the chance for in Glee fic. So if you'd like to leave a few pairings you'd like to see in your review, I may just add them in. Though as subplots, because this is first and formost a zombie fic. But you all knew that, right?

Thanks for reading!


	3. Come Together

8:09. Artie's eyes are stretched wide, as he pushes himself away from the computer. Mass chaos. Death tolls rising. And strange things about the walking dead.

And he is stuck in a wheelchair. His breath begins to spike. This is very bad.

There's a sound behind him, and his blood runs cold. He knows that sound. The lift is moving to the second floor.

---

8:12. There was something off. Kurt knows there is something off now, though he finishes the article he is reading before he admits it to himself. The twenty-first siren of the morning just roared past, is he isn't mistaken. And, even though he should be on the wrong side of the house to hear any people from the street, he swears he can hear screaming.

Kurt hates to do anything dirty, but he's not stupid. Showbiz is a dirty business, and if you can do show business, you can do anything. Hopefully.

He makes his way to the front room and takes a peek out of the window, then slowly shuts the blinds. He makes his way back to the kitchen, turning off every light as he goes. Then he sits down at the table and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

Don't panic.

The sound of breaking glass echoes through the halls, but Kurt doesn't hear it. Pity.

---

8:15. The screams were not his mother's. This is no relief to Finn. The screams were her mother's boyfriend, who is now in the car beside him, screaming at him to drive.

"She bit me! Crazy-" a quick peek at Finn's knuckles, white against the steering wheel, and he changes his word choice. "Crazy woman bit me!"

He is bleeding drastically from the neck, and Finn did see, in the flashes of light through half-opened windows, that it was in fact his mother who was responsible, though she hardly looked like herself anymore.

She is locked in her room now, and he has to take Darren to the hospital. One thing at a time.

The garage door begins to creak open. Finn had meant to fix that.

"Oh God."

Darren is wrong, Finn can't help but think. With a scene like this, there can be no god.

---

8:16. The door had been unlocked. Brittany shoved it open, because whatever was on the other side had to be better than out here. She stumbled into an empty house, or so it seemed. Dark, silent. But that wasn't enough. Her legs were shaking, and she wanted to collapse, and cry, and call her dad. But she couldn't.

She had to get higher.

And then she found the elevator.

The doors open.

She practically falls over. She wants to cry, because at least she can pretend to feel safe now, but a voice interrupts her.

"Are you alive?"

She nods, and lowers herself to the ground. At this point, she doesn't even care who's talking.

"Yes."

The sound of wheels meets her ears, and a strained, obviously fake laugh.

"I think you picked the wrong house."

---

8:17. She thought she had imagined the first knock, but it comes again, and she sighs, leaving her homework sprawled out across the table. Quinn is just about to open the door when the phone rings.

She picks it up, voice masking her confusion as to who it could possibly be. She's in charge. She usually initiates any pre-school calling.

"Hello, this is-"

"Don't answer the door."

Quinn blinks, and stares in confusion at the phone for a moment, before bringing it back to her ear. "Excuse me?"

There is an exasperated sigh on the other end. "Didn't you hear me? Don't open the door."

Quinn tsks. She was in such a good mood, too. "Who is this?"

More dramatic noise from the other end. "Santa Claus. Jesus Christ. Look, if you don't believe me, than look outside. Just do not open any windows. And don't answer the door."

Creeped out- and, okay, a little curious- Quinn goes to one of the big windows in the living room, and peeks behind the curtains. The phone falls from her hand.

---

8:18. Kurt had to call her. He could see her through her skylight, as he stands at his kitchen table, wondering whether calling his dad again and having no answer would be worse than not calling at all.

When she stands up, he tenses. He can see some of those things, knocking against her front door, and hopes she isn't doing what he thinks she's doing.

As soon as she leaves his line of sight, he picks up the phone and calls her. He won't go into why he has her number, because the fact that he feels better knowing the biggest bitch in his school's number is a problem he doesn't think needs to be shared.

They talk. He gets her to listen, which is something he would gloat bout in any other circumstance. But not now.

He hangs up when she starts screaming. She can call him back if she needs to. It's not as if he has anything better to do.

Except for the fact that- no. Dad already left for work. There should be no one in the front room, especially since he had just left there.

Left those big, none-too-stable windows alone. Kurt swallows, and clutches the phone tighter.

He really, really hopes she will call soon. Otherwise, he may have to pop over for a visit.

---

8:19. Wham!

That is the third person Santana has hit in the last ten minutes.

But they don't really look like people anymore, and oh god she could see why Daddy wouldn't let her take her driver's test and why is this happening?

Uphill. She needs to get somewhere safe. And the police station is uphill. They won't bother her about lack of license, not with this kind of day.

Wham! Four. This one looked like her niece. She has to drive with her eyes occupied for a moment, as she throws up all over the passenger seat.

---

8:20. Mercedes has gone and slept through her alarm, again. And now she's gone and missed her bus, again.

And Dad's going to be so unimpressed with her, 'cause he only went to this conference because she promised not to give Mom any trouble.

And driving her late daughter to school falls under trouble. Capital T.

Oh well. As long as she's going to be late, she may as well look good. She peeks into her closet, then yells downstairs.

"Mom! Have you seen my zebra jacket?"

No answer.

---

8:22. Artie is relieved to see that the girl standing in front of him looks both sane and mostly unharmed. He is still wearing his fake smile, and she is staring at him like he is crazy. She's breathing hard, which means she's seen them first hand.

He wheels back into his room, tossing in a remark to break the silence as he does.

"I'm not exactly the someone who can rescue you. Sorry."

---

8:23. Tina doesn't know what to say about Rachel Berry's driving. Sure, they haven't hit anything yet, but not for lack of trying. They are going way over the speed limit, and Tina's nails are digging into the seat under her.

But they are getting where they need to. Most important part right there.

Sometimes, periodically, Rachel slows and almost stops, before pressing hard on the gas pedal and roaring away. This is usually when there are particularly loud screams, or someone walking around that wasn't obviously... Obviously dead. For lack of better words.

But she never stopped, and Tina was secretly grateful.

Other cars have passed them, looming from the mist, usually going far too fast. Rachel's hands are gripped tight around the wheel, ready to twist out of the way as fast as possible. None of the other cars slow.

Another car has just gone whizzing by them, and Rachel lets out a sigh of relief. That was a close one.

The horrible sound of twisting metal rips through the air, and Rachel stops. Looking at Tina, there is a silent panic in her eyes.

Tina understands. But the can't go back, they have to keep moving forward, or reality will catch up with them.

"Help! Anyone?"

Rachel groans, and shifts the car into reverse.

---

8:23. Finn doesn't know how it happens. The other car looms out of the mist, surprising him, and he presses harder on the gas pedal, roaring by.

He doesn't know where he is. If he did, he would have known that this particular street has old, heavy streetlights placed every twenty meters.

He swerves out of the way of a figure that looms out of the smoke, one he doesn't want a close look at, and suddenly a solid metal pole is looming up in front of him.

Finn slams into the steering wheel, and feels something crack. Pain explodes through his head, and he hears the tinkling of glass. Darren's gone through the windshield.

It takes him a moment to unbuckle his seat belt, blinking blood out of his eyes, as he attempts to open the door and stand up. The last part proves must difficult, and he sways as the world tilts.

And he knows there's a reason he's not supposed to, but it's out of his mouth before he can't help it. "Help!" Somebody, anybody help. Because he can see Darren, crumpled in a heap a few feet past the streetlight. He still can't stand up without the car beside him supporting him.

There's noises behind him. He thinks at first it must be a dog, but when he turns to look, he sees it's the person he was trying not to hit.

He should have just hit the girl. Her head's already caved in anyhow.

She's groaning, and walking towards him, and there's groaning coming from Darren's direction now too, deep and guttural and terrifying.

The girl reaches for him, and he stumbles back, against the open driver's door. He closes his eyes, his hand groping around the floor of the car, looking for something, anything to use to ward her off.

And then she is gone. In her place is the dented bumper of a little car that must have looked nice this morning. A girl is sticking her head out the window, eyes wide, face drained of blood as she stares at him.

He's not so out of it that he doesn't realize she's pretty.

Before she can even say anything, he's stumbling forward, opening the door, and falling inside as the girl he hadn't noticed before begins to scream. A face with empty eyes, covered with blood, is pressed against her window.

The driver begins to drive away before he's even managed to shut the door. He glances back in a hurry, his mutter of "Wait!" already leaving his lips.

The girl laughs, somewhat hysterically. "Wait? Did you want to get eaten?"

He opens his mouth, but closes it again as his catches a glimpse of Darren, standing limply, head swinging towards them. His eyes are empty.

"A-are y-y-you ok-kay?" The dark haired, Asian girl manages to get out, after almost a minute of silence.

Finn lifts a hand- which feels very heavy- to his forehead, and it comes away sticky with blood.

"Just a cut," he hears himself saying. "Nothing big."-

His head swims, and the world fades out.

* * *

A/N: So now we know that Rachel wakes up at six. That is one of the reasons this is an AU. :)

And this chapter took the reins and tore away from me, and was getting too long. So I didn't get as far as I'd have liked, but I did start to tie some people together. Puck isn't even up yet! What a lazy boy.

Most of the couple requests have been RachelPuck. Anything else out there that people want to see? I'm looking for subplots. Because I love subplots.

Thanks for all the reviews, and sorry if I forgot to respond to anyone. I'm the forgetful type. But every review I get makes my day. :D So, my question to you all is- What did you think of this week's episode, and the preview for next week?

And now I must go, because I am actually in Math class right now. Thanks for reading!


	4. Running Up That Hill

8:24. Kurt has never before been so grateful for the two glass doors that shut the front room off from the living room, and therefore upstairs as well. Not that it will hold the monsters long, but long enough for Kurt to find a way onto the roof, and plot a way over to his blonde next-door neighbour's skylight.

Now, if only he could hold his breath and do it.

Instead, he looks down at the cellphone in his hand, and dials her number.

It rings twice, and then her voice cuts through the line.

"Hello?"

She sounds strained. A smirk slips onto his lips. "I'm coming over."

He can practically hear her frown. "Who are you? Honestly, I don't even know you."

"Well, I'm about to jump onto your roof." Not really. He isn't even on his balcony yet. "Because I have unwanted guests in my front room."

"Sucks to be you." He can see her at the window now, looking around, then up to meet his eyes. Her eyes narrow, and he gives a little wave of his fingers.

A sigh on the phone. "Don't break anything."

"Least of our worries, darling." There's the sound of more glass breaking, and he picks up the bag he's put together. He hangs up without saying goodbye, and he can see her scowl before she pulls away from the window, presumably to do what perfect people do during an apocalypse when they're expecting company.

He can hear noises on the stairs. He shuts the sliding glass door behind him, bag- yes, bag. It is totally not a purse in any way, shape, or form- clutched tightly in one perfectly manicured hand.

Climbing over the railing immediately feels wrong, but Kurt can handle that. He crosses his fingers behind his back, more because it's juvenile than anything else, and he would hate for anyone to see. But luck will be needed, because he will be so not impressed if this bag somehow ends up on the ground.

He tosses it.

It lands right on top of the skylight, and Kurt grins. That probably gave someone a fright. Now, for him.

He closes his eyes- he can't help it, really, he doesn't like heights- and jumps.

---

8:26. Santana is at the police station.

The police station is on fire.

She picks up a stone by her feet, and hurls it into the burning building. She screams, but at least that's better than tears.

She turns her back on the place that was supposed to save her, and climbs back into the car. She's shaking, but it's more from anger than anything else. Because the police station is on fire.

And that is just ridiculous.

Santana stares at her steering wheel for a long moment. Breathing is something she has to remind herself to do. Her mind is racing.

Where can she go?

The car roars to life, and for a moment, her heart stops. She's almost out of gas.

---

8:27. Brittany is sitting on his bed, while his fingers fly across the keyboard of the computer in front of him. She feels less awkward than she should, sitting in a stranger's room. Perhaps she is going into shock.

His name is Artie, and he is paralyzed from the waist down. He says that there is a car downstairs that can fit his wheelchair, but that it would be a bad idea to go down there, when they are perfectly safe up here. For now.

Brittany's legs are still shaking, but Artie told her where to find a blanket, and told her that if she starts to feel faint, she should tell him. Even as he's busy typing, he sneaks a peek at her every couple minutes, talking to make sure she hasn't gone into shock.

The things he's found on various news sites have not been comforting. In fact, she had to make a trip to the bathroom and throw up last night's dinner.

The dead. The dead are waking up up and devouring the living.

Artie spins around, his face grim. "Reports are coming in from China, South Africa, Russia, all over Europe... and across the States. Everywhere."

Brittany's voice is weaker than she'd like. "What are we supposed to do?"

Artie licks his lips. "Stay inside. Lock all doors. Don't go outside, don't do stupid things." He sighs. "Nothing that common sense doesn't tell us already. Officials are trying to get safe spots cleared, but the closest one to us is two hours away."

Her face pales even further. "We won't make it." Knowing that it needs to be said, she looks down at her hands. "I don't even know how to drive, so..."

Silence falls between them. Brittany takes this moment to stand up and take a peek through the window.

Her voice comes out strangled. "They're through the gate."

"They must have followed you." Artie had followed her, his face level with the edge of the window frame. He looks up at her quickly, apology already written on his face. "Not that- I mean-"

Brittany can't help but laugh, as he pushes his glasses up his noise and tries to hide his awkwardness. "I know. I'm glad you-"

Her heart freezes. The door is unlocked. And maybe even left wide open.

Her legs surprise her with their speed, as she rushes to the elevator. Horrifying noises are echoing through the shaft, but the lift is not there. It's sitting on the bottom floor, and what if she calls it up now, and some of those things are on it?

Artie has just caught up with her when she turns around. He takes a look at the open lift door, and bites his lip.

"There are stairs at the end of the hallway, too," he mutters. And Brittany hears herself asking where they come out.

He frowns. "Closer to the garage than the lift." He catches her drift. "Do you think we have five minutes?"

He's already wheeled off, and Brittany goes to look at the stairs, and figure out a way to get Artie and his wheelchair down them.

A thought flashes through her mind, and though she feels immediately bad for it, it won't go away.

Maybe she did pick the wrong house.

---

8:28. Mercedes finds her mom shaking in the kitchen.

Across the room is their mailman, covered in blood and taking deep breaths.

It takes a moment for this to sink in entirely. When it does, Mercedes' chest feels tight with panic.

"Mom?"

Her mom turns to her, and her shaking slows. She puts on a wide, bright smile, and points at the stove. "I made breakfast!"

It smells like burnt eggs, and no surprise- the eggs in the pan are black and crispy. The mailman doesn't even look at her, only lets his eyes dart to the window again.

Mercedes doesn't like this at all.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Her mother's voice is higher than usual, breathy and strained. "Hurry up and eat, or you'll be late for school again!"

The table is set for three. Her mother pushes her towards one seat, pulls the mailman to the other, than sits down at the head of the table.

"What do you have after school today?"

"Nothing..." This was way to weird for her. She took one last look at the mailman, who was now staring blankly at the burnt eggs he had been served up, and stood up.

"I, ah, don't think I'm hungry right now, Mom. Can you drive me to school?"

A shocked look crosses her mom's face. "Me, drive? Oh, I don't feel up to it today. I took the day off, actually. You can drive yourself, can't you, honey?"

She hands Mercedes the keys, and turns to the mailman. "More coffee, Roger?"

Roger is her dad's name. She hadn't known that the two men have the same name. She shivers, and heads for the door. Her mom follows her, and kisses her on the cheek. "Have a good day!"

Her zebra sweater is hanging up by the door. Perfect. She slips it on and feels a little more in control of the situation. Between this and her Mercedes necklace, she can get through even the worst of days.

Her mom almost pushes her out the door. "Bye!"

Mercedes looks out at their ruined lawn. Huge gouges are torn out of it, and the mail truck is totaled, wrapped around the tree to her left. There is blood everywhere, as if bodies had been dragged down the sidewalk. And a man at the end of her driveway turns to her, showing off the fact that half of his face is gone.

He growls. Mercedes' heart leaps into her throat, and she's too scared to scream. She's seen enough horror movies to at least guess at what this is. Turning around, she moves to rip the door open.

It's locked.

Her mom has locked her out of the house.

Her mom has locked her out of the house, and she is going to die.

Everyone deals with the impossible in different ways. When the going got tough, Mrs. Jones closes her eyes and locks her door, and pretends everything is okay.

---

8:30. Quinn doesn't want to admit it, but she shrieked when something thudded above her. When she looks up to see it's just the boy's bag, she shakes her head. Idiot.

It should bother her, that a stranger is going to come into her house, after just calling her. Twice.

But the boy she saw on the balcony does look familiar, though she can't place him perfectly, and dammit! She doesn't want to be alone right now, not with monsters swarming outside.

A much louder thud, and then some scratching. Quinn looks up at the ceiling with terror, and feels her nails dig into the flesh of her palms.

Then there is a thud on her deck, and a scream. Without realizing it, Quinn's voice joins in on te scream, which only raises her own paranoia.

A slamming on the sliding glass door. She rushes to it, pulling back the curtain and yanking open the door.

The boy falls through it, and she slams the door behind it, throwing the lock for good measure.

The boy hasn't gotten up yet. Stomach twisting, she leans over to see his bright blue eyes staring right back at her.

"Ahh!" She stumbles backwards, as he gets slowly to his feet. He doesn't seem to notice that his face is splattered with blood, only looks down at his pants, and pulls at a tear in the knee.

"What a waste," she hears him mumble. Then he looks back up at her. "Any way for me to get on the roof? My bag is up there."

His voice is no less annoying in person than it was on the phone.

Quinn tries to slow her heart, and points up the stairs. "One of the windows opens enough for someone to slip out."

He turns and heads in the direction she pointed him. Before he starts up the stairs, Quinn clears her throat.

"Who are you?"

He doesn't even turn. "Kurt Hummel. I'm in your math class."

He walks, though it's more like strutting, up the stairs, and Quinn turns away in a hurry. She had never known his name before, but there is no doubt as to he is now. 'The gay boy' was his most common title.

There is clattering above her, and a few minutes later, he is downstairs again, brushing at some of the blood splatter that is marring his white collar. If he is paler than he was before, Quinn chooses not to comment on it.

He breaks the silence.

"I know who you are, of course. The famous Quinn Fabray."

If he expects her to say something here, she does not comply.

"Now." He sits down in the chair closest to him, creating a stern steeple out of his fingers as he stares at her. "What do you propose we do?"

And how can a boy like him make her feel smaller? That's not how the social status is supposed to work.

Humans are supposed to be at the top of the food chain, too.

---

8:32. Tina doesn't really know how they ended up with an unconscious man in the back seat. But he is back there.

And now Tina is back there too, trying to rip up his shirt ad use it to cover the bleeding wound on his forehead. Doing this while Rachel jerks right and left, and Tina is tossed about like some kernel waiting to pop.

So at this moment, Tina has only gotten as far as taking his shirt off, though there are a few rips in the fabric here and there that she can take credit for.

So now there is a half-naked unconscious man in the back seat. So much better than before. And how good sarcasm feels, slipping around her brain, leaving no room for terror. Not right now.

"Could you possibly slow down a second?" There is blood everywhere now.

But Rachel is already shaking her head. "No no no. We're almost there."

The school looms up in front of them, and Tina closes her eyes. Please, let it be empty.

It isn't.

---

8:33. Artie stares down the staircase, all the way down to where Brittany is nodding encouragingly from the bottom.

He's doomed. He is going to die right here.

And if he doesn't hurry up and do it, Brittany is going to die, too. So, after a deep breath, he closes his eyes, and releases his grip on the railing.

Sliding down his banister was something he never really saw himself doing, so he had never really thought through the mechanics of it. But he can see why- in these terrifying few seconds before death- Brittany was so skeptical to letting him go down head first.

It was just that he likes to see where he's going, and this way, he thought he could feel when the banister began to flatten out.

He can't.

He flies off the end, straight into Brittany, who flies back with a muffled scream.

Not muffled enough. There's movement down the hallway, and if he's gone and knocked her out, they are both dead and done for.

But no. She's stirring, and her bright blue eyes open with enough suddenness to make him flinch.

"Come on. We've got to go."

And somehow she has managed to lift him and slip him onto her back, and they are moving towards the open door to the garage, where his wheelchair is already strapped in and waiting.

She shuts the door as soon as they are through it, and looks a little ill when they begin to hear the sound of nails against the door. -Artie feels more useless than usual, and all he can really do is murmer 'hurry, hurry, hurry,' as she somehow manages to lift him into his chair, and starts to buckle him up.

"I can do that!" He pushes her away, harder than he meant to, but she understands, slamming the van door and rushing to the other side as the door to the house begins to creak.

It isn't until this moment that Artie realizes the other family car is gone, and his stomach twists. They couldn't possibly have- they wouldn't-

The van roars to life, and Artie can't think about those things right now. Brittany stares at the steering wheel for one long second, and then a hand snaps through the door, and with a shriek, she steps on the gas pedal.

Somewhere in all of this, one of them should have remembered to open the garage door. But no matter.

The van tears through the garage doors with a scream of protest, and there is now a huge dent in the fender, but they are still moving forward. Brittany is hyperventilating, and when she finally finds her voice, it is dangerously high-pitched.

"Where do I go?"

Artie's brain is scrambling with the same question. They had been so focused on getting out. He should have thought it through more, no matter than they hadn't any time.

"Some place fortified, strong doors, not a lot of people, lucky it's early..."

"Like a prison!" Brittany adds in, loud and shrill as she swerves to avoid a garbage can. The least of her worries, really.

"Yes," Artie agrees, mind still churning. They didn't have a prison here. Closest thing to it was the police station, and that didn't really seem like the best idea. Seeing how normal people handled this virus, or whatever it was, Artie was in no hurry to find out how criminals and other violence-minded people handled it.

"Like a school!" This makes Artie pause, and look up at Brittany. In the review mirror, he can just make out her eyes, stretched wide with terror.

"That... would work, actually." Too early for many people to have been there before this started, usually strong doors. "What school do you do to?"

Brittany makes an impossibly tight turn, and Artie swears he feels two of the wheels leave the ground for a second. The van rights itself, and he breaths a sigh of relief.

"McKinley!" It appears that Brittany can handle dead children chasing her, but put her behind the wheel of a car and she falls apart. Artie just hopes she can get them both there in one piece.

And McKinley wasn't far from here. It was the school he would have gone to, if Mom hadn't insisted he go to a one specifically for kids with special needs.

Mom. He shoves any thoughts of his family away. Because even if they did leave him behind- and there must be an explanation, there must- they were wrong. He's not going to be a burden or, excuse the pun, a dead weight.

Seriously. Next zombie that threatens him or Brittany, he is going to smack down like the hand of God.

* * *

A/N: Don't have a lot to say about this. Except for that next chapter, Puck will wake up. I promise. And more shall meet up. *nod*

Thanks for reading!


	5. Sweet Dreams

A/N: This took a long time. And the worst part is that I will probably not update for the whole month of November, as I am embarking in the crazy journey known as NaNoWriMo. If anyone else is with me, drop me a line or add me as a NaNo buddy! My username is twisting vine.

So, I hope you all enjoy this! Happy Halloween, and thanks for reading!

This chapter is dedicated to the mods over at the rachel_quinn livejournal, for pimping out my story. :)

* * *

8:34. Noah Puckerman wakes up.

Turning over to look at his clock, he groans. He's gone and overslept. Well, first period doesn't even matter anyways. He can just roll over and pretend he's sick.

An odd 'cough, cough' sound is heard from the corner of his room. His mom is sitting there, right next to the door, a handkerchief over her mouth.

Dad's old shotgun is held between her knees.

He sits up suddenly, and his mom jumps. Immediately, her hands fall to the shotgun, and before Puck has time to say anything, she is pointing it at him.

"Mom?"

She looks over at him, and there is something off in her eyes. Harder than usual.

"Noah! You're awake." She doesn't lower the gun. "Are you feeling alright? Hungry? Peckish for anything in particular?"

Puck gives her his best What-the-fuck? face he can muster on such a short notice. "What are you- Where did you get that gun?"

His mother is still smiling. "Please, Noah. Your father was never good at hiding things from me. Would you like any raw steak?"

"No, I would not like any raw steak!" Puck looks over at the clock and curses. The last thing he wants to do before nine o'clock is have a conversation with his mom about Dad. Even school is better than this.

"Look, mom." He tosses the blankets off of him, rubbing at his eyes. This could totally just be a dream, but until he wakes up, he's leaving. "I've got to get to school, so-"

His mother stands up and calls out the door. "Darling! Your brother's no more bloodthirsty than usual in the mornings. Come on!"

Pattering feet, and then his younger sister comes running through the door, jumping on his bed with a large smile.

"Hi!"

Puck's eye twitches.

Fucking mornings.

---

8:35. Kurt has been staring at the girl for the past five minutes.

"Would you mind?"

He winces. What a shrill voice. He half-regrets coming over here. Except he doesn't. Because A: He likes his blood to be inside of his designer clothes, not on them. And B: He is sitting here, rolling his eyes at Quinn Fabray. Quinn Fabray, queen.

And if it is your last day on Earth, you couldn't do much better than look good and have royalty as your company. Honestly. And he thinks that the blood totally adds to the outfit. It had been missing a certain spark before.

"Would I mind what?" He scrapes blood off of one perfect fingernail. This one had survived, at least.

Quinn stands up suddenly, jolting the table and forcing him to glare at her. "Doing something! Would you mind doing something!"

"I am doing something."

"What!" She puts one hand on her hip, and assumes the pose of Perfect Cheerleader™. Can she get more predictable? "What are you doing?"

"Listening to you coming up with bad ideas."

She scoffs. "You haven't done anything but shoot down whatever comes out of my mouth. Let's see you come up with something, Gay Boy."

He switches hands, and begins to assess the damage of the other set of nails. "You want my plan?"

"Yes!"

"You won't like it."

She actually slams her hands down on the kitchen table they are sitting at. "Like hell I won't! Just spit it out, Fag Magnet!"

Ouch. That was uncalled for. Kurt sighs, standing up and glaring at her.

"Fine." He crosses his arms and looks up at the ceiling. "My dad has a bunch of ammo and a few guns stashed in his garage. The garage is also the home of my baby, and I remembered my keys." He pulls them out of his bag. "Your turn."

"That's it?" That shrill tone again. Awful. "That's all you've got? And how are you planning on getting to your garage? You gonna hit all of those- those things with your Man-Purse?"

"It's a messenger bag."

"It's a Man-Purse."

He sits back down. "Well, that's what I've got. Your part is to figure out how we get from here to there."

"Well, genius, what do we do once we're there anyway?" She is panicking again. "Where do we go?"

"What? You think I have all of the answers?"

"You don't have anything!"

"I have a car."

"So do I!"

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Oh? And where is this car? It wouldn't be that one at the end of your driveway, would it? The one surrounded by cannibals?"

Quinn throws her hands in the air in protest. Kurt counts that as a point to him.

---

8:36. Santana is officially running on adrenaline. This is true for both herself, and her car.

But she has ended up somewhere familiar, which is a plus. McKinley. The cheerleaders here had beat out her own squad in the state championships last season. So it isn't as if she could forget this dumb school.

But now she doesn't have much choice. Her car wheezes, and is dead underneath her. There's nothing in sight. Except-

Movement. The scream spills out of her before her eyes even know what they are seeing.

When a head pops out of the parking car, she nearly faints. Her hands find her mouth, shutting her up. But the figure is moving, gesturing. Which is a nice change from the growling and chasing and attempted eating Santana's been getting all morning.

Almost falling out her car in her haste, she begins to run to the person. She doesn't care who they are, really. She just hopes they are someone who knows what's going on, someone she can follow. She's tired of leading.

A goth chick shoots a strained smile at her when she makes it over to the car, before her eyes look to the back seat again. Santana usually hates these kids, freaks all, but the girl is trying a smile, and though her clothes are covered in blood, her teeth look to be clear of flesh.

"C-can y-you..." She pauses, a look of annoyance crossing her face, as if her faltering speech was bothering her as much as it was Santana. "Help?"

Santana gives the girl an exasperated sigh. Weaker than her usual, but still getting the point across. Does she look like she is in any position to help?

Another head pokes out of the backseat, a brunette with wide eyes and what used to be a short white dress. Great. It will totally be just her luck if she's managed to run into a pair of lesbos, or something.

Though judging by the steaming body in the backseat that Freak #2 is sprawled over, this group may not be so bad.

"He's unconscious." The girl has a voice to go with her looks. Annoying. "And too heavy for us to carry inside ourselves."

Santana puffs, almost speechless. "Fine." She tries to keep her eyes trained on the boy, and not the gross lesbos, or whatever they are.

But the goth freak is shaking her head. "D-doors first?"

They hurry up the stairs- She never considered locked doors. Freak #1 reaches out and pulls at the door.

Santana almost breaks down right there.

Locked. It's locked.

Santana can already feel the teeth biting deep into her limbs. She drops her head into her hands, and slides down the door. Glass, just to show the safety that lies beyond. Sure, there is nothing yet, but it won't be long. And she'll end up just like Daddy, or silent and cold like Mommy.

She begins to shake. Above her, the goth chick sounds terrified. Huh. Santana always thought this is what kids like that wanted. The end of the world.

But she just sounds like a little girl. A little like Santana. A little like breaking.

"W-what d-do we d-d-do now?"

---

8:37. Mike expects to be awoken by a bell. Or, if not that, giggles and a smack on his head to send him on his way.

He does not expect this. This sharp, piercing scream that cuts off as if someone other than it's owner stifled it. It echoes through the darkened gym long after it's over, causing his nerves to ring as he struggles to pull himself from his sleeping bag.

Beside him, his partner in crime yawns, and opens one sleepy eye. "What the?"

Mike is already fretting. He had totally had a bad feeling about this whole thing, but they really had no choice, if they wanted respect from the QB and any decent chance at taking the field.

Coach likes his players to have guts, after all. And this is how he likes them to prove it.

He reaches for his backpack, and fumbles for the closest wall, following it to a door.

Behind him, the other guy is finally standing. "Where are you going?"

There is no point in turning around. He can't see worth shit anyways. "Don't tell me you didn't hear that."

"It was probably a bird, or something."

"Sure." Mike checks his watch, the light on it casting a green hue on his teammate's tired features. Wow. This guy can move pretty quiet. Mike hadn't known he was right behind him.

The illuminated numbers read 8:37. And this thing is accurate too.

"Where is everybody?"

There is morning light leaking into the hallway, much to his relief. But there is no noise. No students, getting ready for class that should start in less that twenty minutes.

"Shit." Mike doesn't even know the guy's first name. "We're gonna be late, aren't we?"

"I think something's up." This is the last time Mike ignores a bad feeling, that's for sure.

"Maybe they start at 8:30."

Mike is already shaking his head, as he jerks his head at an empty classroom, the same as all rooms they had passed. "Nope."

The dude- he has to learn the guy's name soon- stops, looking confused. "I hear banging. Like, on a door. Or something."

Mike clutches his backpack handle tight, and listens hard. He cn hear it too.

Slowly, he heads for the door, Whats-his-name tense behind him.

And a little piece of his brain asks;

"Is this it?"

---

8:38. Driving is hard.

"Stop sign, Brittany!"

"I see it!"

"Dead lady! And watch for the curb-"

Bang! There goes another tire.

"Shit!"

Artie knows now is not the best time to become a backseat driver, but he can see Brittany's hands shaking from here.

"You're doing fine. We're almost there."

Brittany nods, and a chant starts up in her head. Come on, come on, come on. She can do this. She's driven before, though it's true that this car felt like a tank, huge and unwieldy.

Unwieldy. That is supposed to be one of her spelling words today. She bites back a hysterical giggle. She still doesn't know how to spell it.

An old man waves at them, but Brittany can't tell if the blood on him is his or someone else's. She doesn't slow.

"Poor guy," Artie mutters. "Can't even run away."

Neither can you.

Britt almost lets the words slip out, but instead she bites her lip hard enough to cut through the skin. Even she knows that pointing out the boy's helplessness at a time like this is a bad idea.

"What will we do it it's locked?"

Artie somehow manages a laugh. "We drive the van right through the front doors. Okay?"

And she is nodding, because she trusts him. Her older sister always said she trusted too easily, but Britt doesn't think this is the case here. Artie will never ask her to do something she doesn't want to unless it's absolutely necessary. She can just tell.

Reading books may not be her strong point, but Brittany makes up for it by being able to read people pretty damn well.

There's the school. Her arms almost turn to jelly before she tightens them again. She has no idea how she managed to get them here, with two flat tires and the driving skills of a ten year old (her driving instructor's words, not her own).

Ha! If that guy could see her now! Sure, she'd broken about a bazillion bylaws, but she's gotten them here, hasn't she?

There was a car right outside the entrance, and a few bodies in front of the doors. There is now way Artie could get up all of those steps anyway. Didn't they think of things like that when they built high schools? Jeeze.

"Brittany?"

"Yeah?"

There is a pause, and the only noise is the van's roar as it speeds towards the front doors.

"I- I don't think those people are dead."

Brittany looks. They are thirty feet away from the bottom of the stairs. And it's true. They look like they are hardly dead at all. Making them very much alive.

She slams on the breaks. The car spins out of the little control she had over it, skidding towards the stairs. She's screaming, and she's pretty sure Artie is too.

It's okay, her panicking brain reminds her. He's already in a wheelchair.

They hit the stairs sidelong, and the car tips. The glass of the passenger window explodes, and Brittany cries out as it cuts her face.

Then it's over. Somewhere, there are running footsteps, but that's not important. The important thing is the silence coming from the backseat.

She's trying to reach for her seatbelt, but her arm feels funny, and it's hard to unbuckle something that is the only thing keeping her from hitting the other side of the van.

"Artie?"

---

8:39. Finn awakes to screaming, again. Screaming and crying and the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline.

"Get them out of there!"

---

8:40. Mercedes doesn't even know how she managed to get where she is. That man had started coming at her, and she had seen the stick lying a few steps away, a splinter of the destroyed tree.

She had the stick up and ready as the man ran at her. He got close enough, and she swung her stick with all her might.

It dug deep into the man's face, and there was a startling crack. But it wasn't the stick.

Mercedes turned around and wretched. The image of the man's brains splattered over her driveway was going to be stuck in her mind for a long, long time.

Unless she doesn't live a long time. Then it's okay.

At least she held onto that stick. And she didn't even get brains on her zebra sweater.

She has somehow made it three blocks down. She has switched her stick for something that lookslike a cross between an exhaust pipe and a bike spoke. Or spine, or whatever they're called. It's served her well, so far.

But there are so many of them. They don't notice her right away, so she hasn't had to run much.

This one is a big mother fucker. Probably a weight lifter, though he's missing some of those hard earned muscles now, his chest ripped open, entrails trailing.

Mercedes has nothing in her stomach, and nothing in her gas tank. She stands her ground.

Here he comes. He is huge.

"Don't," Mercedes growls. "Touch me."

Thwack! Another home run.

She hits the downed giant over the head once more, then looks critically at her now dented weapon.

Mercedes knows something is up. She's been abandoned, and a giant body builder just tried to eat her. And she's not even panicking.

Maybe when she gets a chance, she'll break down. But for now, she doesn't have the time. She's got to stay alive.

A growling fills the air, and she lifts her pipe. That cannot be good news. At all.

Well, she's not good news either.

"You wanna piece of Mercedes?" Talking to herself. Another thing that is not good. "You'd better bring it."

---

8:41. Quinn never knew what type of person she really was.

Now, staring at Kurt, an idea churning through her head, she might just know.

And she is excited about it.

"Fruitcake!"

He looks up immediately. Oh, and he is totally pouting.

"Look, I'm not-"

She holds up a hand, and he actually stops. Oh, the power of popularity. It never dies.

"I have an idea. So listen carefully, Doll Face."

He makes a noise of protest, but he is so listening.

And when she's done explaining, he is trying to hide the fact that he's impressed. Oh, and he wonders why everyone finds it so obvious that he's flaming. He's easier to read than a horny freshman.

"You in, Rainbow Lad?"

He extends a stiff hand. She stares at it a moment, before realizing he wants to shake. They share an awkwardly short handshake, and let go as soon as possible.

"I'm in."

Quinn stands up. "I'll go get the thing."

"Fine." He sits back down, and actually laces his hands over his crossed legs. So gay. "But I'm driving."

She is secretly relieved. "Fine with me."

She didn't want to have to be the one to destroy Daddy's front porch. No matter what the situation.

---

8:42. Puck is still unsure why, no matter what the situation is, his little sister has to sit in the front, squished between him and his mom. His mom, who happens to drive like a blind cat lady, chatting away about apocalypses. Every once in a while, she'll remind him to hold on to that gun tight.

"Where are we going?"

She smiles at him. "The synagogue, of course!"

Which is, of course, in the most populated part of town. Puck spies his next door neighbour chewing on someone's foot, and his stomach turns. He swears the guy looks right at him, locks eyes with him.

And is now running after them.

"Mom?" His voice sounds strained, even to him. "Can you step on it?"

"Noah." She has her lecture voice on already. "You know, your sister isn't even buckled in. Driving any faster would seriously endanger-"

Wham!

Puck hates hitchhikers even more now.

---

8:43. Artie wakes up in a panic.

He can't feel his legs.

But then he remembers that's natural. He hasn't been able to feel his legs in a long while.

Though his head is pounding horribly. Oh wait. Someone's banging on the roof of the van.

The van...

"Brittany?" His glasses have fallen off. He reaches blindly around for them, heart in his throat as he gets no answer. "Brittany?"

"Artie?" She's outside the van. Relief floods through him. "Are you okay?"

"I can't feel make legs," he jokes, but there's a muffled gasp anyway. Maybe one of the people from the front doors.

Which means they aren't dead. That's good.

"He's fine, he's fine." He can hear Brittany assuring someone.

"The engine's smoking." Another female voice, if he's not mistaken.

"That's a bad sign, right?" Brittany again. Artie smiles. She sounds fine. She really does.

"It s-smells like g-gas."

Gas isn't good. It makes you sleepy.

"Artie? Can you get yourself out of your chair?"

"Sure." His head hurt. "'course..."

---

8:44. Rachel doesn't know how all these people are showing up.

This many people should worry her, because who knows who is going to turn into a braindead next?

Honestly. It was way safer with less people.

But she had picked up two people herself, so she couldn't blame the others.

Though this crash looks bad. The blonde has a broken arm, from Rachel's amateur but informed opinion. And the boy apparently can't feel his legs.

"Oh, no. He's already in a wheelchair." The blonde assures them, for the third time. She has got glass still stuck in her face in some parts, and Rachel is almost positive she is experiencing a mild concussion, at least.

Tina is giving her a worried look. "I-i think the c-c-car..."

Rachel nods. There's smoke, and the smell of gas is heavy in the air. She wants to get away from there, now. The other girl didn't even bother coming down the steps. She's still banging on the door, like it will magically unlock itself.

Tina has got their sleeping Prince halfway out of their car, which is a smart move. Might as well get him out of the way. He appears to be half-conscious, at least, which is a relief. There was no way they could have carried him up all those stairs otherwise.

The blonde has managed to yank the back doors of the van open, an impressive feat for a girl with one good arm. But she's looking at Rachel with desperation in her eyes.

"I think he's knocked out." A pause, as she sways, and Rachel takes a step forward, ready to at least try and catch her if she follows suit. "Can you help? You're smaller than me."

Rachel bites her lip. Goodness.

But saying no would just be wrong. She takes a deep breath, and begins to maneuver herself around the twisted metal blocking her off from the boy.

"You may want to hurry." The blonde sounds more and more distant with each word. "I think it's going to blow up."


End file.
